


Cardinal Commitment

by FreyaOdin



Series: Synchronicity [6]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Bondage, Dom/sub, Fluff, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mild Kink, Musicians, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Reunion Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 07:21:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13230786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreyaOdin/pseuds/FreyaOdin
Summary: Mitch is away for work, Millie is settling into motherhood, and Scott is driving everyone crazy.





	Cardinal Commitment

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year Everybody!!
> 
> My thanks to Ehcimocs (of Wattpad) for betaing

“You sure you’re going to be okay while I’m gone?” Mitch asks at the entrance to security. It’s as far as Scott can come with him, so progress has stalled as they delay the inevitable. 

He’s heading to Curacao to film a visual album he partially produced. He’s not the star, thank fuck; it’s his friend Giana’s first studio album. However, the concept is a love story set over a few days’ time and Mitch will be “DJing” for a lot of the planned scenes. It’s going to be fun, working with Gi and some other old friends and new acquaintances, all in a beautiful setting. Palm trees. Beachside clubs. Free-flowing rum. Barely clothed eye candy. But it’s also going to be exhausting, both physically and socially. And he’ll be away from Scott for more than a day or two for the first time since they got together.

“Believe it or not,” Scott says, fixing the collar of Mitch’s shirt where the strap of his laptop bag has pulled it askew, “I’m a big boy. Completely capable of surviving ten days without supervision.”

Mitch isn’t actually sure of this. Well, he’s sure about the big boy part. Very sure. But not about the supervision.

His opinion must show on his face, because Scott rolls his eyes before pulling Mitch into a hug, pressing their foreheads together. “Make sure you get enough alone time. Don’t let them crowd you into a panic attack.”

Mitch is actually really good at finding excuses to hermit when required, although he has to admit this situation will harder than usual. That’s what Xanax is for. “I’ll be fine.” However, he’s not the only one who has unhealthy habits when his optimal social levels aren’t being met. “Don’t party too hard because you’re lonely, or work too much because you’re bored.”

“Yes, Mom.”

To be fair, the music Scott tends to make when he’s throwing himself into his work is fantastic; Mitch is looking forward to hearing whatever he comes up with and maybe helping him record it. But not at the expense of sleeping.

At least he doesn’t have to worry that Scott won’t eat. He might not eat well, but he’ll eat. He gets too grumpy when he doesn’t, so Millie will make sure he eats out of sheer self-preservation. Speaking of, “Don’t run yourself into the ground helping Millie and Jeff too much whenever you’re not working.”

It’s a pointless request, Mitch knows. Scott will be at Millie’s as often as she’ll let him, whether it’s to actually be useful or just to steal baby cuddles whenever he can get away with it.

He’s proven right when Scott just smiles and leans down to kiss his cheek. “No promises.”

***

_Scott’s waiting for him at the door; Mitch barely makes it inside the apartment before he’s being crowded up against the wall and kissed within an inch of his life._

_“Missed you,” Scott says eventually, breaking the kiss to nuzzle along Mitch’s jaw. He presses him more firmly into the wall, pushing a thigh between his legs._

_Mitch hums and spreads his feet, tilting his head to give Scott access to whatever he wants. “Missed you too.”_

_He can feel Scott’s lips curve into a smile against the sensitive skin of his throat. “I have two presents for you. Want to see one of them?”_

_Mitch bites his lip as Scott’s thigh presses more firmly into his cock. “I like presents.”_

_“I’m really hoping you’ll like this.” Scott untangles himself slightly to reach for a wooden box on the nearby bookshelf, turning it so Mitch can open the lid._

_He does, and then blinks. Inside, he finds four black leather cuffs. Silver D-rings shine from the back of each one, as do the bright silver buckles holding them closed. “_ Fuck _.”_

_“Good fuck or bad fuck?” Scott asks, studying him closely._

_“Oh,” Mitch says, licking his lips and trying to ride out the wave of arousal flooding through him without whimpering. “I think we’re about to have a very, very good fuck.”_

_Scott smiles. “Yeah, we are.”_

_He puts the box down and gathers Mitch into his arms, kissing him again, deep and possessive enough to have Mitch reaching for his shoulders to balance himself. His hands soon make their way to the buttons of Mitch’s shirt. “You okay with being mine for today?”_

_Gee, let him think. “You going to strip me naked, tie me up, and make me come spectacularly?”_

_Scott smirks, popping open another button. “I’m going to strip you naked, cuff your wrists behind you, put you on your knees, and fuck your pretty mouth until I come down your throat._ Then _I’m going to tie you up and make you come spectacularly…after I play with you for a very,_ very _long time.”_

_Mitch doesn’t even try to hold back the whimper this time. “I’m very,_ very _into that.”_

_It doesn’t take Scott long to get him undressed, not with Mitch helping him along however he can to speed up the process. The cuffs go on more slowly; Scott seems to be savoring running his fingers over each of Mitch’s bare wrists before gently wrapping them and doing up the big silver buckles. Between the slide of new leather against his skin and the scent of it in the air, Mitch can already feel himself letting go. He closes his eyes and welcomes the familiar dichotomy of his thoughts growing fuzzy even as his mind seems to clear._

_Scott kisses the pulse point on his wrist next to the second cuff as he finishes buckling it. He tugs at it gently, checking its tightness, making sure it’s not going to hurt him. “Okay?”_

_“Hell yes.”_

_Scott’s hand cups his jaw, thumb drifting across his bottom lip. Mitch opens his eyes to find blue ones staring down at him, glinting with lust and amusement. “You’re halfway down already, aren’t you?”_

_“Oh yeah.” Mitch smiles lopsidedly. “I really need this.”_

_Scott doesn’t answer him, but the utterly filthy kiss Mitch gets instead suggests Scott really needs it too._

***

Mitch has only been gone for three days when he gets a text from Millie.

He’s already exhausted from dancing and air DJing and smiling all the time and he has an entire week to go. He shouldn’t bitch; Giana and her backup singers have been lip syncing and dancing far harder than he has, and she’s front and center in almost every shot. But between having to dance the whole damn time, being surrounded by so many people, and faking the same scratches and fades over and over again, he still finds it draining as hell.

Plus side, he’s never spent three days in the tropics before without getting a horrible sunburn. Guess that clause where he gets a pay cut if makeup has to spend time covering up his sorry red ass works after all. With money on the line, he’s turned into the queen of reapplying.

Millie sends the text just as Mitch is getting to his hotel room for a precious few hours of sleep before he has to get back to the set for some night shots. It’s a video, only about 15 seconds long, and shows Scott kneeling on a carpet, holding Vivica’s wriggling feet and nuzzling his face into her chubby baby tummy as she kicks happily in the air. It’s adorable and gives Mitch a warm flutter deep in his gut that he’s not really used to feeling.

And then it goes from sweet to something Mitch will cherish _forever_ when a tiny brown fist flails up and smacks Scott directly in the eye _._ Millie’s peal of unrestrained laughter almost drowns out Scott’s startled “Ow!” as the video ends.

Honestly, if Scott ends up with a black eye from getting punched by a two-month-old, Mitch may die laughing.

He FaceTimes Millie after his third rewatch, and says, “Oh my God, that was the best thing _ever,_ ” the second she picks up.

She laughs. “Right? I can’t tell you how pleased I am I caught it on camera. I need to send it to everyone we know. Connie’s going to die.”

Ha. She will. It’ll be up on Facebook within minutes.

“Is he still there?” Mitch asks. He’d planned to call Scott in a few hours to catch up before heading back out, but he wouldn’t be averse to seeing his face for a few extra minutes right now.

“He’s just popped out to get us groceries while Viv has her nap. Which makes him far more useful than my mum will be when she comes next week.” Millie pauses for a second. “Well, no. Nevermind. Mum can cook.”

Scott, on the other hand, can’t reliably tell the difference between broccoli and cauliflower and needs instructions and supervision while chopping vegetables so dinner isn’t contaminated with bits of human flesh. Mitch enjoys having Scott’s fingers in his mouth, but he prefers if they’re, you know, still attached.

Millie’s obviously willing to put up with a certain number of substitutions to her grocery list if he gets confused; it’s not like she could possibly be unaware of Scott’s culinary deficiencies. So instead of getting into it, Mitch asks, “Didn’t Jeff’s mom just leave?”  He could have sworn Scott said something about her visiting. He hadn’t seemed impressed.

Millie snorts. “Yes, thank fuck.”

Ouch. “That bad?”

“Not really. She was happy to pitch in and help and besotted with her granddaughter and she’s perfectly cordial to me.” She sighs. “But the lecture about Jeff living a lie is always a bit…tense.”

Mitch blinks. “I don’t understand.”

“Bisexuality doesn’t exist in her world,” Millie says, waving her hand in the air. “So she wavers back and forth between telling Jeff he doesn’t have to live in the closet because she loves him _even though_ he’s gay. Or she berates him for upending her life by coming out when in fact his attraction to men was only a curious teenage phase.”

Huh. Mitch had just assumed Jeff is straight because he’s with Millie. Which, now that he thinks about it, is fucking stupid of him. Not as stupid as Jeff’s mother obviously is, but still.

“Oh,” Millie says, because Mitch’s ignorance is apparently all over his face. “Sorry, I thought you realized.” She smiles slyly. “You’re not the first guy Scott’s pulled at a club who turned out to have long term potential. You’re just the first one to have long term potential for _him_.”

Well. Isn’t _that_ intriguing? “I’m going to need to hear _all_ the details of that.” He pauses to think about it for a second.  “Like _all_ of them.”

***

_If Mitch had been asked while driving to Scott’s house what would make him happiest in an hour’s time, he might not have chosen being on his knees with a fat cock sliding between his lips, wrists crossed and linked together at the small of his back, slightly off-balance as strong hands keep his head steady, with a delicious strain in his shoulders every time he tests the hold of his brand new cuffs. But that’s only because he wouldn’t have thought of it because the reality is_ perfect _._

_His eyes are closed so he doesn’t get overwhelmed, but the sounds all around him are more than enough. The slurp of his lips as Scott’s cock pushes through them, the gentle chime of the Baoding ball in his hand as he sways with Scott’s movement, Scott’s harsh pants and soft moans as he uses Mitch mouth. Even the distant wail of a siren joins the foggy symphony settling down over Mitch’s mind._

_“God, look at you,” Scott says breathlessly, and Mitch opens his eyes to peer up at him. Scott’s tall, so tall, and it’s accentuated ten-fold by Mitch’s current position. The view is fantastic, from the toppy gaze to the clenched jaw and down the beautiful pale expanse of skin revealed by his open shirt._

_Mitch can’t exactly answer him, not like this. But he flutters his eyelashes to accentuate the blush he can feel building in his cheeks at the praise._

_“Fuck, this is going to be quick,” Scott warns, laughing softly at himself. “_ Look at you _.”_

_Mitch can’t, obviously, but he can imagine the picture that he makes, flushed and wide-eyed and helplessly turned on, sucking for all he’s worth on the prize he’s been given, clutching the ball in his hand tightly out of fear of stopping everything by accidentally dropping it. He should probably be embarrassed by how into this he is, but he’s not. Not at all._

_Whatever the exact picture is, it clearly works for Scott, because it’s only a moment later that he’s panting, “Swallow, Mitchy. All of it,” and less than a second later, Mitch does._

_Scott rides out his orgasm, gasping and moaning, praise and nonsense tumbling from his lips. Once he’s recovered, he tucks Mitch’s bangs back, continuing the caress along his jaw and over his cheekbones. “God, I needed that.” Then, after tucking himself back in, he pulls Mitch to his feet and holds him, one warm palm spread wide across his back, the other on his jaw tilting his face up to meet his kiss. Mitch whimpers into it as his still-hard cock brushes the soft denim covering Scott’s thigh._

_Scott smiles and pulls back. The hand on his back holds firm, steadying him in his cuffed state, but the one on Mitch’s jaw trails along his neck, smooths over his chest and down his abdomen. “Now that there’s no urgency,” he says, making Mitch shiver by running his fingertips gently run up the underside of his cock. His smile slides into an evil smirk. “Let’s have some fun.”_

***

A day later and things are not going well. Giana gets a call from her label; the producer of one of the remaining tracks has pulled his contribution, stating she no longer has permission to use his work. The label’s lawyers are confident they’ll win the dispute in court, but the process will take months and the album is supposed to release in only five weeks.

They’re literally already on location to shoot the fucking video for it, so Giana has two choices: have her orphaned song redone in a couple of days, or cut it from the visual album entirely. Since the song contains the twist that the entire plot of the video hinges on, the former option is really the only thing that will work without delaying the whole project and flushing a fuckton of money down the toilet.

And what other producer does Giana have on hand to redo a song in only a few days’ time with no warning whatsoever?

Oh yeah. _Mitch_.

It’s a great opportunity honestly; he’ll have another credit on the album if he can pull it off, which will bump him over half the tracks. It’s also one of the songs with the most potential to be released as a single, so it’s a chance for some serious radio play if the album’s as well received as the label expects. And the vocals are gorgeous; Giana’s emotions really come through and the lyrics are heartbreaking.

The problem is that Mitch has already heard it as originally produced and he liked it. It’s killing his creativity. He’s already been working on it most of the night and half the day, and he’s accomplished very little. He can’t even decide on a direction.

He’s currently sitting cross-legged in the center of his hotel bed, sweating through the heat with his headphones on, MacBook Pro running his DAW. Giana’s vocal roughs and those of her backup singers are already loaded, along with the lead guitar. It needs a new bassline and beat, along with all the auxiliaries. And, like, a feel. A soul.

He’s got his midi fighter on his lap, practically smoking as he tries one beat after another, loading sample set after set, growing more and more frustrated when everything either sounds too close to the original’s vibe or just doesn’t suit the song at all.

Eventually, he rips his headphones off with a growl, flopping back onto the pillows behind him. ‘No problem, Gi,’ he’d said. ‘You worry about the shoot and I’ll get a rough mix to you in twenty-four hours,’ he’d said.

Sometimes he’s a fucking idiot.

He checks the time on his phone and sighs with relief; Scott promised to be free this afternoon if Mitch wanted to talk, once he’d finished a studio session. And boy, does Mitch want to talk. He needs to vent and hopefully bounce some ideas off him. Scott’s great at coming up with alternate concepts Mitch would never have thought of, but which often work out well once he gives them a try.

But when Mitch calls him, he doesn’t answer. Mitch rechecks the time and tries again. Still nothing.

Last time he couldn’t contact Scott when they’d planned something in advance…oh, _fuck_.

He sits up and frantically FaceTimes Millie, holding his breath through the three rings it takes her to answer.

“Mitch!” she greets warmly, Vivica asleep on her shoulder. Her smile fades when she catches his expression. “What’s wrong?”

She looks normal and so does Vivica, not that Mitch is especially good at telling when babies look normal. “You’re both okay?”

“We’re fine.” She peers at him. “Did you expect us not to be?”

“I can’t get ahold of Scott. I thought—I guess I thought wrong. Is he there?”

She shakes her head. “I think he’s recording right now?” She glances offscreen. “Yeah, he’s got a studio booked until noon.”

Yeah, that’s the problem. “It’s nearly two.”

Millie looks confused for a second before chuckling quietly. “Mitch, darling. Where are you?”

She knows where he is. He humors her anyway. “Curacao.”

She nods. Stares at him. Waits another second and then prompts, “And where are Scott and I?”

Los Ange—oh, Mitch is an idiot. He can feel his face flushing as how dumb he is sinks in. “Time zones exist?”

She nods, laughing again. “Time zones exist.”

He sighs. “In my defense, I’m really sleep-deprived.”

“Oh, do tell,” Millie says, readjusting Vivica to a more comfortable position on her shoulder. “I have no concept of being sleep-deprived. What’s it like?”

Okay, noted. Don’t bitch about being tired to a new mom. “Sorry.”

She waves his apology away. “Can I help at all in the meantime?”

He shakes his head. “I may be slightly in over my head and wanted Scott’s musical opinion on something.”

“Funny enough,” Millie says, patting Vivica’s back as she snuffles in her sleep. “When I’m not functioning as a human mattress and/or snack bar, I’m also a musician. Same training as Scott. A lot of the same experience, too. Something going on with Giana’s album you can’t figure out?”

She’s not supposed to know what he’s working on. Mitch signed a non-disclosure agreement and hasn’t even told Scott. “How—?”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re dating my best friend in the entire world, Mitchell. You think I didn’t stalk the hell out of you online the second it looked like it was getting serious? You have two collabs with her on your YouTube channel, one recent, one where you both look like children. There are a bunch of uni shenanigans on your Instagram. For the past three months, you’ve been frantically working  on something you’re not allowed to talk about, and rumor has it she’s about to release something big. Something she’s filming in the Caribbean as we speak. Where you just happen to suddenly be.”

Wow. She’s good. Scary, but good. Also, there’s clearly a leak at Giana’s label. “Uh, I can’t confirm that.”

“Of course you can’t. But I want a signed vinyl when it comes out. Scott does too. We both think it’s going to be amazing.”

Of course Scott knows too. Mitch sighs and nods and then gives her the general gist of his problem without mentioning any specifics; he’s read the details of the NDA and he’s not willing to risk breaking the fucker even to people who clearly already know.

Millie listens sympathetically, wincing in all the right places. And she instantly understands the issue with knowing too much about a previous version to be able to easily create something new.  “How specific does the style have to be?” she asks. “Can you shift it to a different subgenre and then experiment from there? Use that to keep from falling into the original groove?”

The original is probably the most industrial track on the album. It’s not that Mitch hasn’t already considered changing it, but a second opinion helps him refocus on how. He could relax it back to something softer, more organic, while still keeping some of the jarring, uncomfortable concept of it. “I think I have some leeway.”

Millie nods. “Would someone specific have been able to pull it off really well? I like to cycle through the styles of people who’ve really influenced me when I’m trying to write something that won’t gel in my head. See whose favorite tricks might best suit and then adapt them into my own style. I’m sure it’s a bit different with producing than composing, but—”

“No, that…sounds interesting.” Huh. Mitch has done similar in the past, of course he has. The list of influencers on his music is nearly endless. But he doesn’t consciously think about it very often. He tilts his head and closes his eyes, imagining who of his faves past and present might have best pulled off the song. Gi’s roots are underground, old-school hip hop and R&B.  Be nice if such a pivotal part of the album really reflected that. And just like that, he’s got it. “J Dilla.” Oh God, heavy, rattling bass. Off-kilter kicks. Laid back, oozing groove. Meandering tempo. Harsh in parts, and maybe staticky, but less destructive sounding than industrial. More potential for repair and regrowth.

It’s perfect. Fuck, his fingers are already itching to try.

Millie whistles, and he opens his eyes to find her looking delighted. “J Dilla? Wow. Go hard or go home, huh?”

No kidding. It could be amazing, or he could fuck it up tremendously.  But however it turns out, at least he’s got a direction. “You’re a genius, Millie.”

“I’m sleep deprived—moreso than you are—and haven’t written anything that wasn’t a spontaneous lullaby in months, most of which consist of variations on ‘Why the fuck aren’t you asleep?’” She yawns to prove it, belatedly covering her mouth with her hand. “That idea was all you. I don’t even fully understand what you’ve solved. But if you insist, flowers, fancy cheese, offers of babysitting, and designer shoes with comfy insoles are all acceptable forms of payment.”

“I will happily get you all of them if this works because you’re perfect.” He looks at the time. Two fifteen pm. He has about ten hours to pull this off. “I have to go. Tell Scott we’ll talk tomorrow?”

She nods. “I want to hear what you come up with when you’re allowed to show me, whether it gets used or not.”

“I promise!” Mitch says, waving as he hangs up.  God, he’s going to owe her so big if he pulls this off. But first, he needs to arrange for some coffee.

***

_Scott guides Mitch down the hall, hand solicitously on his back. Mitch can’t help but be amused by the gesture; leading a bound, naked man to a bedroom to do unspeakably things to him isn’t most people’s idea of being a gentleman, but Scott consistently manages to pull it off._

_Mitch pauses in the doorway as he takes in the bed itself. It’s neatly made; the comforter smooth across its expanse and pillows fluffed. It looks exactly like it usually does before they make a mess of it, except for the four shiny, stainless steel chains trailing from the corners, each ending in an equally shiny snap clip._

_Scott wraps his arms around him, chest tight to his back, belly brushing against Mitch’s cuffed hands. “Okay? I have leather straps if you’d prefer, but you seem to really like sound when you’re down, so I thought the chains rattling when you writhe for me might be more of a turn on.”_

_“You—” Mitch clears his throat to get his voice to cooperate. “You thought right.”_

_“Yeah?” Scott asks, kissing the side of his head. “Need to prep you then.”_

_Mitch is soon bent over the end of the bed, feet wide apart, face-first in the soft, grey comforter. Scott kneels behind him, smoothing his hands down the length of his legs, pressing soft kisses along the cheeks of his ass and down his thighs. Then he gently wraps the other two cuffs around his ankles, one by one, as careful in ensuring the fit is perfect as he was with his wrists._

_Mitch shivers as the last buckle is pulled tight. “_ Fuck. _”_

_“You_ wish _,” Scott says as he stands, and Mitch can hear his smile. “Want your other present?”_

_Oh, Mitch had forgotten there was another. “Please.”_

_But Scott doesn’t give it to him right away. Instead, Mitch hears the sound of a plastic cap flipping open, and a second later, slick fingers are pressing into him. He turns his face into the bed and tries to control his breathing as Scott slides in first one, then another._

_Soon, Scott’s methodically stretching him, twisting and scissoring, fucking him open. His other hand holds his shoulder, keeping him where he wants him, which is frustrating because Mitch wants to lean forward and rut against the sheets but is instead left futilely humping the air, riding the thick fingers inside of him and clenching his hands into fists behind his back._

_Scott pushes in a third finger and Mitch shoves himself back onto it, eager to move things along. Scott laughs and slides his warm hand down Mitch’s back, clamping down on his hip to still him. “Oh, honey. You’re really going to want to pace yourself.”_

_He gives a final twist of his fingers and then pulls them out, letting go of Mitch’s hip at the same time. Mitch turns his head to watch as Scott wipes his hands on a towel and then grabs a plain black box from his dresser. Scott notices him watching and tucks the box behind his back before bending to kiss him. “Close your eyes.”_

_Mitch does, but it’s not exactly a surprise when he hears the lube opening again just before there’s a slick slide of silicon pressing into him. Scott’s bought him a toy. He exhales, forces himself to relax. Given the time Scott took to really stretch him out, he’d assumed it would be a fairly sizeable dildo. But instead it seems to be a small plug, nestled only about three inches in, the base outside tucked snug underneath his balls._

_He cocks his head, confused._

_Scott hand soothes over his flank. “Not what you expected?”_

_“Not really.” But Mitch’s statement ends in a gasp when Scott prods the thing, pressing it perfectly against his prostate. “Oh.”_

_Scott bends over him and nibbles up his neck, tugging at his earlobe with his teeth. “It’s small, but I think you’re going to like it.” He prods the plug again. “Until you hate it, I mean.”_

_Great._

***

Giana and her team gush over his rough mix and after he spends another six hours incorporating their suggestions and better balancing the draft effects, adding additional texture to the bass and lead guitar, he lets them send it off to a mixing engineer to perfect it overnight so they can start shooting the video for it the following morning. As always, Mitch has a hard time giving up creative control, but he can’t stay up any longer and it needs to get done, so he sucks it up.

He briefly talks to Scott, reassured by how just the sound of his voice is enough to relax him into his first real sleep in almost two days. He crashes hard and stays down for twelve full hours.

It’s not until late afternoon that he has time to call Millie to thank her again and let her know it turned out well. He seems to have interrupted Vivica’s mealtime, but Millie doesn’t appear to care.

“How are you feeling these days anyway?” Mitch asks, trying desperately not to stare.  “Better?”

It’s all perfectly natural and perfectly acceptable and he believes with all his heart that women should be able to breastfeed anywhere they want without hiding. He’s just not used to seeing it, and it’s taking him more time than he’d like to mentally adjust what he thinks should be normal with what he actually finds normal. He makes a mental note to have more patience with the next otherwise-harmless stranger who does a double take at him and Scott holding hands in public, because he tries not to be a complete hypocrite when he can help it.

 “Physically much better.  I managed to lift Viv in her car seat last night and carry her halfway down the  hallway before Jeff freaked out and took her from me.” She pauses to readjust Vivica on her breast. “These are the exciting things that are happening in my life right now.”

 “Jeff still home?”

 “Sort of. He’s had a few gigs, nothing too far away, nothing that’s required an overnight stay, but he’s been holed up writing and recording. That was the plan, to cut back on touring to make progress on new material and spend more time with the baby, but we weren’t expecting me to still be quite so laid up.”

“That must be hard.”

She shrugs. “I like to eat and I’m not going to be working much anytime soon. And the band has a decent insurance plan. If we lose it, we’ll probably have to move to England, and both of us want to stay here for now.” She smiles. “Besides, Scott’s been really great. He’s spoiling me.”

That does sound like Scott. Mitch smiles fondly. “I’m glad he’s being helpful.”

“He’s been perfect.”

***

_Mitch is lying on his back, spread-eagled, hips tilted up by the pillow under his ass, watching as Scott adjusts the last length of chain and clips it to the cuff on his ankle.  Then he stands and steps back, admiring his handiwork. He seems to approve, if the lust in his eyes and the way he’s biting his lip are any indication._

_“Okay?” he asks._

_Mitch tugs on the restraints, first his arms and then each leg in turn. There’s a bit of give, enough to let him strain pleasantly and adjust his position a little if he needs to, but not enough to give any real sense of freedom. He hums at the way the chain links clink together as he moves. “Perfect.”_

_Scott nods and swallows, eyes still roaming over Mitch’s body. “Yes, you are.” Then he smirks and holds up a small purple disk, letting Mitch wonder about it for a moment before pressing the center._

_The toy in Mitch’s ass starts to vibrate, both inside and out, buzzing softly against his prostate from both sides. “Oh!”_

_Scott’s smirk softens. “There it is.”_

_Mitch’s back arches as the sensation—and how helpless he is against whatever Scott’s planning—really starts to sink in. “Oh my God.”_

_Scott licks his lips and tosses the controller onto the bed near Mitch’s hip, before sliding his own shirt off his shoulders. “You’re so beautiful when you squirm.”_

_Mitch likes feeling beautiful. He has a feeling he’s going to be beautiful all afternoon._

_Scott drops his shirt in a heap on the dresser and starts on his pants, never taking his eyes off of Mitch. That’s okay, because Mitch can’t take his eyes off of him, either. Fuck, he’s hot like this, stripping down to his boxers, staring at Mitch the entire time like a predator would a juicy steak._

_God, he missed this. Missed him._

_Mitch moans softly as Scott climbs back onto the bed, kneeling between his spread legs. He places his big hands on Mitch’s knees and slowly slides his way up, warmth travelling up the inside of each of Mitch’s thighs as he goes. There’s a pause as he stops to pour some lube—a different brand than usual, Mitch absently notes—into his palm. Then he closes his fist around Mitch’s cock, gently smoothing the slick up and down a few times, and then sets up a faster rhythm, tracing over and around Mitch’s balls with the fingers of his other hand._

_What had Scott said earlier? This is going to be quick? Because between the vibe stimulating his prostate, Scott jerking him so perfectly, and the cuffs holding him down, it really,_ really _is. “Fuck,_ yes. _”_

_“You like that?” Scott asks, glancing back and forth between Mitch’s face and the cock sliding between his fingers._

_Mitch’s hands curl into fists as he gets closer and his hips start thrusting without his conscious control. He gasps as Scott pushes on the vibe, increasing the sensation beautifully. “_ Yes. _”_

_He’s almost there. Scott’s fingers tighten and speed up. The vibe is pressed harder. Mitch can feel himself start to lose control as he reaches the edge—_

_And Scott lets go._

_Mitch’s cock, slick with lube and hard as hell, lewdly bounces off his stomach before coming to rest off to one side, abandoned. The vibe still buzzes on either side of his prostate, but it’s gentler now that Scott’s no longer touching it._

_Mitch whines and tugs at his cuffs. “No, please.”_

_Scott crawls on top of him, holds himself up out of reach, above but not touching him. He smiles sweetly. “You can’t possibly have thought it would be that easy.”_

_He shouldn’t have. It’s not like Scott’s been subtle about how this was going to go. But in the heat of the moment, Mitch had forgotten. “_ Scott. _”_

_Scott keeps his lower body high and out of range, but lowers his torso enough to kiss him thoroughly. He mouths his way across Mitch’s cheek to his ear and whispers: “God, I’m going to have_ so _much fun.”_

***

“He’s driving me bloody _insane_.”

Mitch is on a dinner break a couple of days later while they film some close ups of Giana grinding all up on her video love interest. It’s kind of hilarious, because Gi and the model they’ve hired to play her lover have zero natural chemistry. Like, nothing. They’re making it work, some of the shots look hot as fuck, but it’s taking forever. Which is bad in the grand scheme of catching up to the schedule so Mitch can fly home on time, but good in that he gets a longer-than-usual break today.

“Any word on when you’re getting back?” Millie continues. She sounds…slightly desperate?

“I’m hoping for the day after tomorrow, but not sure yet,” Mitch replies. “There are still a few more scenes that they want me in the background for, so it’ll depend on if those wrap in time for me to catch the evening flight tomorrow night. Why? What’s he done?”

Millie looks around for a second before answering more quietly. “He’s been over here every spare moment, anticipating everything I need, sometimes before I even know I need it. He gave me a foot rub yesterday and it was absolutely glorious.” She pauses and checks behind her again before saying more quietly, “I can’t take it much longer.”

Mitch can’t help it. He bursts out laughing, belatedly covering his grin with his hand. “So send him home.”

“I can’t!” she snaps, huffing impatiently. “He’ll be hurt and he’ll pout and turn those big blue eyes on me, Mitch. I’m not strong enough to deal with the eyes. And he’ll go, but then he’ll be puttering around his apartment not knowing what to do with himself, and there will be woeful snaps and sad subtweets about how lonely and worried he is and I’ll eventually feel bad enough to invite him back, but then it’ll start all over again. However,” she says with intent, peering seriously at Mitch through the phone. “If he had something to do…”

“And by ‘something’ you mean ‘someone’, and by ‘someone’ you mean me.”

Millie smirks and shrugs. “It’s not my fault you two are all over each other every second when you’re together.”

Before Mitch has a chance to protest how untrue that is—or digest precisely how she knows that it is in fact true—Vivica starts crying from another room. Millie shifts to get up, but before she even manages to stand, a shushing male voice has clearly already responded.

Millie rolls her eyes. “Seriously. He needs the distraction of a good shag and if you don’t come home soon, I shall sacrifice Jeff to the cause. He hasn’t been getting any lately either.”

Mitch cocks an eyebrow. “Over my dead body.”

“No, darling. Theirs,” Millie says before turning away from the screen and yelling “Scooter! Stop mollycoddling my child and bring her here! She’s probably hungry.”

“Actually she stinks!” calls Scott’s voice.

“Oh, well by all means change her before you bring her to me.” Millie turns back to Mitch and smiles sheepishly. “Okay, so there are _some_ advantages to him being here.”

Mitch laughs. “You’re evil.”

*******

_After long, agonizing moments where Mitch tries to get his breathing under control while Scott runs his hands all over every part of his body except where he needs it, Scott unclips his right ankle from its chain and rests it gently on his own shoulder. Then he reaches for the lube—which, after getting a better look at the label, Mitch discovers is actually a water-based massage gel—and spreads it all the way up Mitch’s quad, from his hip to his knee. Then his palms start sweeping up and down, slowly increasing the pressure, fingers finding every tense muscle Mitch has._

_It feels so good that for a while, Mitch actually forget the impatient throbbing of his dick and the buzzing toy in his ass. “Oh fuck, that’s amazing.”_

_Scott laughs. “You had a long shoot and a very long trip home. I thought a massage might be nice.”_

_It is. It_ so _is. It takes a few moments, but eventually Mitch’s upper leg feels like jelly, and Scott moves down and repeats the procedure on his calf, and then his foot. His fingers digging into Mitch’s arch, caressing sore muscles that spent too much time dancing in too-high heels, are heavenly. Scott is_ good _at this. “Please never stop.”_

_Scott hums and moves onto his toes, rubbing each one in turn, easing the remaining strain of cramped shoes and long days spent on his feet. It feels fantastic, and Mitch closes his eyes, lets himself sink into the warmth of those hands and the care they’re conveying._

_Eventually, his leg is lifted back up and a kiss is pressed to the inside of his knee before Scott straightens it and reattaches the chain to the cuff. He smooths his hands back up the length of Mitch’s leg, spreading the soothing warmth farther. There’s a pause, a rustle of fabric, and then the vibe in Mitch’s ass, the one he’d almost forgotten was there, amps up in strength. Mitch’s eyes fly open and he reflexively tugs at his bonds at the shock of it._

_Scott, meanwhile, offhandedly tosses the little disk controller back onto the comforter and crawls over Mitch’s recently relaxed leg to kneel beside his torso. He leans in and presses a kiss, soft and tender, to his lips before reaching for his cock, palming it, stroking it. “You’re looking far too relaxed, baby. Need to get you worked up again.”_

Oh, holy fuck.

***

“I didn’t catch the flight,” Mitch announces late Friday evening.

“Yes, you bloody well did,” Millie replies without missing a beat.

He idly wonders just who in her life convinced her she could bend reality through force of will, but he’s seen Scott fold like a cheap suit in the face of her wrath, so the answer is probably everybody. “They didn’t finish the last beach scene. I need to stay an extra day.”

“You don’t understand,” she says. “If you don’t come home, I’ll end up murdering them both.”

Both? “Scott and Jeff?”

She takes a sip from a mug, setting it down in front of her. “Scott, my best friend, a man I’ve cherished like a brother for years, decided in a fit of drunken stupidity to regale me with how he recently had his hands practically up my twat trying to keep me alive. And, because he’s an arsehole, he followed it up with earnest assurances that it was by far the most traumatizing time he’s ever touched a twat. Which, apparently, he feels he can attest to with some authority, based upon his extensive experience experimenting with random twats in a vain attempt to convince himself he was actually interested in doing so.”

Mitch stares at her, at a loss for what to say. He glances down at his tragically empty mini bottle of vodka. “I’m nowhere near drunk enough for this conversation.”

“To which my boyfriend,” she continues, like he didn’t say anything, “The man I live with, the love of my life and father of my child, responds ‘Mills, you just need to feel Scott up and we’ll all have touched each other’s junk at some point!’”

Mitch blinks. He’s not sure he wants to know but, “What did you say?”

“I asked if kicking them both in the bollocks would count.”

“Hey now, no. I’m going to want Scott’s ‘bollocks’ back in the condition I left them.” He tilts his glass in the vain hope that the four molecules of liquid left in it will somehow multiply themselves, sighing when it fails to come true. “I’m getting another drink.”

Millie doesn’t look impressed. “I haven’t had a drink in almost twelve months. If _I_ can get through the clusterfuck that’s been the past year in this bloody country as a black, pregnant immigrant without resorting to alcohol, _you_ can listen to me bitch about your boyfriend’s arseholery while sober.”

She has a valid point, and Mitch thinks about conceding for a good ten seconds before getting up anyway. “I’m very impressed, but I’m still having another twelve dollar ounce of vodka and you can’t stop me.” He rummages around at the minibar in his room until he finds one before triumphantly mixing it with the other half of his can of tonic water, and resettling on the bed with his phone.  “Okay, please continue discussing your vag and Scott’s balls. I’m ready.”

Millie frowns at him disapprovingly. Or maybe not disapprovingly. Enviously?

“You can drink now though, can’t you?” he asks, suddenly unsure. “I mean, a little bit?”

“If I timed it right I could probably have one,” she admits. She over in the direction Mitch knows Vivian’s room is in. “But we’re already worried about how she’ll develop cognitively, so I’m not willing to risk it.”

Well, shit. Mitch winces and sets his drink on the bedside table, slowly pushing it with the tips of his fingers until it’s out of sight of the camera and out of his own reach. “Can we just pretend I’m not a complete asshole?”

“Honestly, it just further convinces me that you and Scott are made for each other.”

***

_“Noooo,” Mitch whines, writhing and straining against his bonds as Scott lets go of his cock_ again _. He’s on his other side now, licking his lips and staring hungrily down as Mitch shudders through the third denial of his orgasm. Mitch rocks his hips, fucking the air, using the pillow tilting his pelvis up to nudge the vibe just enough to keep from losing the buildup completely. “Please!”_

_Scott’s hands clamp onto his hips, pinning them down. “No cheating.”_

_The physical restraint ramps Mitch’s arousal higher. He tosses his head and tugs on the chains holding his arms down. They rattle reassuringly; he’s not going anywhere. “Scotty, please!”_

_His begging goes nowhere. Scott continues holding him down and Mitch continues shuddering until the painful throbbing of his cock diminishes from all-encompassing to just maddening._

_Scott seems to know the exact moment that Mitch will be able to stand the situation without direct restraint. He lets go and sits back on his heels, watching until Mitch’s breathing starts to slow and his limbs relax back onto the bed, no longer yanking futilely at his restraints._

_A hand slides under his neck and lifts until Mitch head is upright enough to suck on the straw pressed to his lips. It’s water, cool enough to be refreshing but not so cold as to be jarring. God knows he needs it; he can feel himself sweating with every tremor Scott causes. He takes another drink, and then the straw disappears and his head is lowered, and the hand caresses his jaw before it too pulls away._

_Scott unhooks the second of Mitch’s wrists, cradling his arm and soothing massage gel up the length of it. It feels fantastic, eases the strain of too many days spent bent over his decks, too many days repeating the same faked scratches and toggles and slides to the same beats. Too many hours trying to perfect a new groove. It’s even better than it felt on his other arm, because now it’s his left, which did more work and took more abuse as the endless retakes and new shot angles continued._

_However, relaxing into the massage is more difficult now, even though the physical sensations are just as nice. The vibe in his ass is buzzing more strongly, sending spikes of pleasure up his spine and all along his cock, and while Scott’s fingers caressing and kneading his arm and hand are wonderful, he can’t stop thinking about what he’d rather they were doing. “Please, Scott.”_

_Scott ignores him, taking his time to finish Mitch’s fingers, tenderly kneading along the length of each one, and pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist, just below the cuff. Then Mitch’s arm is raised above his head again, clipped back onto its chain. But this time Scott turns the cuff slightly, eases it around until the chain lies across Mitch’s palm. He reaches across Mitch’s body, shadow falling across Mitch’s face as he does the same to the other one._

_He sits back on his heels. “I thought you might need something to hang onto.” And then he presses the purple controller again. The vibe kicks up another notch and Mitch’s hands curl around the chains, tugging and straining against them as Scott takes hold of his cock once more._

***

Mitch is not impressed. He manages to catch the Saturday evening flight out of Curacao, a day later than originally planned, but it’s delayed so long that he misses his connection in Miami. He goes to the service desk and discovers that not only has he missed his scheduled flight, but also the one after it, which was the last one to LAX that night. He now has a choice between waiting nine hours for the first nonstop flight in the morning, or getting a connecting one through Nashville, Charlottesville, or JFK, all of which have long layovers and would only get him home an hour or so sooner. Yeah, no thanks.

He sighs and sends Scott a string of bitter, sarcastic texts—complete with airplane, pilot, and Satan emojis—explaining that he won’t be back tonight after all. Scott’s apparently busy or at least not looking at his phone, because he doesn’t answer right away and Mitch decides standing in a mostly empty airport waiting for a text isn’t a good use of time.

He debates hanging out in the terminal overnight, but he’s exhausted and just the thought of trying to sleep with all these strangers around is giving him hives, so he books a room at the hotel attached to the airport. They have space, thankfully, and he trudges into the elevator and up to his floor in the hopes of a decent night’s sleep.

Ha.

The room he had in Curacao was a thing of beauty; it was large and serene and looked out onto a beautiful beach. This one, not so much. His keycard grants him access to a small, dark box. The bed looks like a king, but it takes up a solid 80% of the floor space, which maybe isn’t a bad thing considering the weirdly bright blue of the carpet. Mitch flips on a floor lamp to try to make up for the dim overhead light, but it doesn’t really help much. Neither does opening the floor to ceiling olive green curtains because, as he soon discovers, the only thing behind them is a fucking wall. He briefly considers just sleeping in the terminal after all, but he’s already paid and it looks clean enough, so he gets ready for bed.

It doesn’t go well. His tendency to register every sound around him is great for his music. He can hear rhythms, patterns, notes, and harmonies all around him wherever he goes, finds beauty in almost any sound. It’s one of the reasons he got into music production and he still sometimes amazes even himself by what he can make out of seemingly nothing.

It’s biting him in the ass now though because he hears absolutely no joy in the rumbling of the elevator next door, or the flush of a neighbor’s toilet, or the way each door opening and closing in the hallway echoes through his room. He eventually gets up and turns on the air conditioner, not because it’s particularly warm—it’s fucking freezing, in fact, so the air conditioner clearly hasn’t been off for long—but because he figures the white noise will help him sleep. And it might have, if the thing didn’t come equipped with a loud, arrhythmic rattle that’s only redeeming feature is the way it sets his teeth on edge.

He checks his phone to find a couple of texts from Scott. One’s just a crying emoji, which is exactly how Mitch feels about the situation right about now, except moreso. The other is more of a concerned query, asking if he’s okay and if he needs anything.  He kinda wants to hear Scott’s voice, but he knows if he calls him he won’t be able to hang up again and then neither of them will get any sleep. So he just texts back that he’s fine and will see him tomorrow.

Scott sends. “Okie. Love you!”

That at least makes him smile, and he types back “love u 2!” and then gets up to dig out his headphones. Some soothing music or maybe some ASMR will help drown out the noise of the hotel.

It totally works, too, at least until his phone runs out of juice half an hour later and Mitch discovers that the only plug is all the way across the damn room from the bed.

***

_Scott presses a kiss above the cuff on Mitch’s left ankle and refastens the chain just like he did for all his other limbs after each massage. Mitch barely notices, because the buzz around his prostate is intense enough at this point that it’s all he can think about. And the groan that leaves his throat when Scott bumps the power up yet_ again _– how many fucking settings does this thing have? – is impressive, even by his own rather vocal standards._

_He’s kind of past the point of writhing and is a mostly-quivering mess, clinging to the chains holding him down and his sanity by the skin of his teeth. He tosses his head. “Scott. I can’t.”_

_“Shhh.” Scott’s hands smooth up the insides of his legs, achingly slowly before one is pushing at the vibe and the other is wrapping around his cock. “You can come this time, baby. You’ve been so good for me. So fucking beautiful.”_

_“Promise?” Mitch he can’t handle being worked right to the edge, believing he’ll go over, only to be denied yet again. He needs to make sure. “You promise?”_

_“I promise.”_

_Mitch moans in relief and drives his hips up, thrusting into Scott’s hand and back down to rock the vibrator inside him. Now that he’s been promised he can come, all hope of patience is gone._

_He grunts in time with the movement of his hips, his voice intertwining with the squelch of his lubed cock sliding through sticky fingers and the squeak of the mattress underneath him. Everything grows faster and higher pitched and more and more perfect as Mitch gets closer. He feels like he’s run a marathon, or at least what he imagines a marathon would feel like; he’s exhausted and overwhelmed and sprinting to a desperate finish._

_He’s never been more desperate to finish in his life._

_“That’s it,” Scott murmurs, sounding almost as out of breath as Mitch feels. “Love seeing you like this. God, I’m going to make it my life’s work to see you like this as often as possible.”_

_That triggers another high-pitched whine from Mitch, the thought of being under Scott’s hands like this on a regular basis. He’s not sure if he loves or hates the idea right this second, but he definitely feels strongly about it._

_Scott’s free hand curls around one of Mitch hips, fingers spread wide and squeezing tight. He’s not inhibiting Mitch’s motion, merely appreciating it, Mitch thinks. Whatever his reasoning, Mitch knows there are going to be small round bruises under each of Scott’s fingertips, and he loses himself in the thought of his fingertips falling short when he spreads his own hand over them in the morning._

_“That’s it,” Scott says again, tightening the hand encircling Mitch’s cock. He groans as Mitch’s thrusts get even more frantic. “Come on, baby. Take what you need and come for me.”_

_Mitch thrusts maybe three more times before he comes, screaming, tightening in all the right places to accentuate the toy around his prostate and the hand around his cock and the cuffs around his wrists and the others around his ankles and the fuzzy, empty, beautiful space around his whole mind._

_Scott pulls him through it, literally, tugging and jerking Mitch just right to squeeze every last drop out of him before he collapses into a sated, blissed-out mess._

_“You’re amazing,” Scott whispers. “I love you so much.”_

_“Yes,” Mitch agrees, releasing his death grip on the chains and stretching out his hands. “Love. That. You. Yes.”_

_Scott’s chuckle is deep and comforting. He leans down and presses a kiss to the center of Mitch’s chest._

_Mitch hums his contentment, but the toy still buzzing in his ass and under his balls draws his attention as he shifts. It’s too much. “The vibe.”_

_“I’ll take care of it” Scott says, reaching for the controller. “I’ve got you.”_

_Mitch sighs with relief and his eyes flutter closed as Scott presses it, only to fly open again when the vibrations once again grow_ stronger _._

***

Mitch gets maybe two hours of sleep before his alarm goes off at an ungodly hour so he can make it back to the airport in time for his flight. He drags himself into the shower, hoping desperately that he’ll feel less like death warmed over with a little warm water, but sadly it’s not to be.

He’s really fucking grateful there’s a little café in between the hotel lobby and the check-in counter for the airline. Big coffee. Huge. All the coffee.

Once caffeination is well underway, he heads for one of the little automated check-in terminals. However, when he scans his flight confirmation, the stupid thing just beeps at him and tells him he needs to proceed to a service desk.

Ugh. Now what?

He waits in line for a thankfully short amount of time and then explains his issue to the woman behind the desk. She frowns but dutifully checks him in. After a couple of seconds of her tapping at her keyboard, her frown fades into a smile. “Ah, your ticket’s been upgraded to first class.”

“I’m sorry?” He’d remember doing that, wouldn’t he? He wasn’t so far gone last night that he called and paid twice as much while delirious?

She prints off his ticket and hands it to him. “Someone named Scott Hoying arranged the upgrade.”

Of course he did, overly generous, sappy idiot that he is.

“He’s left a message for you. He says…oh.” She glances up at Mitch and then back down at her screen. “I’ll, uh, print it out for you. Thank you for flying with us!”

Mitch isn’t sure what to make of that, but smiles in thanks and steps to one side to free up the counter as he reads his note:

Before you bitch about the expense, it’s not as if I don’t get something out of this. I’m improving the odds you’ll get some sleep on the plane. If you manage to land well-rested, I’ll make it well worth your while…

Love you, Scott

P.S. I actually used Jeff’s reward miles, so you should probably thank him instead of me. But not with sex. All sex rewards should come to me. Heh. Come.

Ah. That explains the printout. Mitch sighs and rubs a hand over his face; he’s dating a twelve year old. He can feel a blush building on his cheeks and glances back at the service agent to find her watching him with a small smirk even as she’s helping her next customer.

Mitch rolls his eyes, making the agent laugh. He texts a quick “Thank u” and “how worth my while is worth my while?” and then heads for security and eventually his fancy-ass, first class seat.

***

_Mitch is shaking. He’s shaking and his back is arching and each harsh, panting breath is ending in an ever-increasing high-pitched whimper._ Jesus.

_Scott watches him with hooded eyes, a feral curve to his lips. He’d gotten up for a moment, fussed with something Mitch couldn’t focus on, but now he’s back to kneeling between Mitch’s legs, watching him suffer._

_It doesn’t last long, at least Mitch doesn’t think it does. It’s hard to tell. On the one hand, every pulse of the vibe through his oversensitive ass feels like an eternity. On the other, his whines haven’t hit the top of his vocal range yet, even though he’s pretty sure there’s about a quarter-tone rise between each one and he wasn’t low to start with._

_However long it actually is, Scott eventually crawls over him and presses a kiss to his lips. “You’re so perfect.” As he’s doing so, his fingers finally, thankfully, find the plug. He rocks it a couple of times, just because he can, Mitch thinks. But then he gently pulls it out, turning it off and tossing it aside._

_Mitch sighs, relieved, and happily accepts another kiss, drifting in his now-peaceful post-orgasmic buzz. It’s not to be though, at least not yet, because soon the blunt tip of Scott’s cock is at his hole, hard, slick, and demanding._

_Welp, there’s the top of his range. Might be a new high, come to think of it._

_Scott hushes him, lips trailing soft kisses all over his face as his cock presses relentlessly into him. “Shhh. You were so good, baby. So worked up and gorgeous and desperate. Came apart so beautifully for me. But it’s my turn now. Got so riled up watching you. This is what I need, Mitchy. Your beautiful body writhing underneath me. Your ass wrapped all around me. God, so perfect.”_

_Mitch shudders, breathing in harsh gasps. His mind adores this, embraces the notion of Scott fucking him as deep and as hard as he can. He wants Scott to take exactly what he needs from him, find pleasure in using him however he sees fit._

_But his body isn’t as sure, overwhelmed and oversensitive. His wrists tug at his chains and his heels dig into the mattress, scrambling for purchase as he reflexively tries to escape._

_Scott slows and reaches up to rest two fingers across Mitch’s palm. Mitch doesn’t get it at first; he appreciates the grounding contact but not much else. But then Scott’s thumb presses into his wrist, just above his cuff, and Mitch figures it out. He squeezes Scott’s fingers twice, clear and firm._

_He’s fine. Don’t stop. Take him._

_Scott smiles and leans in again, tugging at Mitch’s earlobe with sharp teeth. “There’s nowhere to go, baby. You’re pinned under me. Chained down for me. Spread open and helpless.”_

_Mitch’s back arches and he whimpers as the words sink in. Fuck, he’s almost sorry he’s so very spent, because it really wouldn’t take much for Scott’s words to make him come and come hard if he could just get it up again._

_Scott pushes up on his arms, looms over him, powers into him with more strength and leverage. Maybe it’s the change in angle, or maybe Mitch’s endurance has finally been pushed to its limit, but his body suddenly gives in, pushed past overwhelmed to accepting.  His muscles slacken, relaxing until he feels like he’s melting into the bed._

_“Fuck yes, there you are.” Scott says. He’s gritting his teeth, breathing harshly through a snarl. Mitch’s moans helplessly at the sight and lets the fuzzy warmth that’s been circling his brain overtake him completely. He can feel his body rocking with the force of Scott’s thrusts. Feels Scott gentling, settling back down on him, chest to chest. Feels his arms clutch under him, holding him close. Hears Scott’s speak, the words flowing over him. He absorbs the intent and gist and love contained within them, but not their exact meaning. Maybe they don’t have an exact meaning; Scott might be as far lost in his own headspace as Mitch is in his. Mitch kind of hopes he is, because fuck this is so nice. Scott deserves to feel nice._

_Mitch has no idea how long he floats for, worried about nothing, being fucked and kissed and used and praised. There’s nothing he has to do, nothing he_ can _do but take it, and the relief he feels at having no responsibilities or expectations to fulfill is amazing._

_It can’t last forever. Soon enough Scott loses his rhythm, hips stuttering and grinding down as he comes with a yell. A burst of secondary pleasure pulses through Mitch as Scott twitches above and inside him. He caused this. His body and his submission made Scott moan like that, feel like that._

_He hums into the sloppy kiss Scott presses to his mouth. Smiles as he absorbs the last of Scott’s thrusts. Drifts as Scott collapses on top of him._

_It’s warm here. And floaty. And just really, really nice._

***

Mitch falls asleep almost immediately after takeoff. Maybe if he liked flying more he’d have managed the feat before it, but he’ll take what he can get. His seat is wider than normal with plenty of leg room and better still, there’s no one beside him. All in all, it’s glorious. He’s almost sorry to miss out by sleeping through everything. Almost, but not quite.

He has a vague recollection of the best inflight breakfast he’s ever tasted, although he’s pretty sure he only ate half of it before passing out again. It’s kind of remarkable; he didn’t even take a Xanax. Guess sleep deprivation and the promise of a good reunion if he’s rested for it work wonders.

Once he lands, he turns off airplane mode on his phone and checks his messages. His plane took off well before dawn in LA, but it seems Scott’s been busy since he woke up:

“very worth your while. VERY”  
“I have presents for you. And *plans*”  
“Sex plans. The plans are for sex”  
“So are the presents fyi”  
“Want me to pick you up? Text me when you land”

Oh hell no, he’s not making Scott drive all the way out to the airport; not only would it inconvenience the hell out of Scott, but Mitch will be stuck waiting for him for at least half an hour. Better to take an uber to his apartment, drop off his luggage, and then drive to Scott’s.

And maybe have a shower to freshen up. Scott’s plans will no doubt be better that way. He texts his revised version of the plan and gets Scott’s promise that he’ll be waiting at the door for Mitch’s arrival. The thought gets him through the banal conversation his uber driver insists on subjecting him to, as well as the empty, vacant feel of his apartment once he gets there.

It’s weird. He likes his apartment. It’s small, cozy really, but Mitch has always found it to be a perfect little oasis away from the pressures of the social world around him. Now, however, it feels…like something is missing and oh God, Mitch has become one of those people who talks about not feeling at home if someone in particular isn’t there. He rolls his eyes and concentrates on unpacking his gear and the nicest of his clothes. The rest can wait until he has time to do laundry.

He hops in the shower and cleans off the smell of airport and passenger jet that apparently even first class passengers have to deal with, and then gets into his car to head for…home.

If he concusses himself eyerolling at his own sappiness, does it still count as being well-rested?

***

_Mitch whimpers a protest when Scott gently pulls out and rolls off of him. It interrupts his floating; he misses the weight and the warmth and he’s not at all ready to face the world again. The film of sweat and massage gel covering every inch of him is evaporating and he shivers, suddenly cold, but it’s only a moment more before a blanket is spread over him, soft and comforting on his bare skin._

_And then Scott’s unclipping his chains one by one, helping him stretch and move his near-boneless limbs into more natural positions, tucking each of them safe and warm under the blanket.  Mitch’s head is lifted and a straw is once more placed to his lips, soft words encouraging him to drink it. He does, realizing he’s thirsty as fuck once he gets going, and he quickly finishes the rest of the bottle. He manages to shake off the fuzziness enough to shake his head no when Scott asks if he wants more._

_Scott disappears for a moment, and Mitch forces himself up further to figure out where he’s gone. Bathroom. Mitch can hear the water running. He’s proven right when the lower half of his blanket is pulled back – okay no, cold air is still evil – and he’s carefully, gently wiped down._

_It’s only when Scott reaches under the blanket to pull Mitch’s wrist out onto his lap so he can undo the buckle on the cuff that Mitch shrugs off enough headspace to form a real opinion. “Hey, no. Leave them on.”_

_Scott pauses. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”_

_It’s a great idea. “I like them. They feel good. Like I’m yours.”_

_“You are mine,” Scott says, still hesitating. He traces a circle around the edge of the leather. “I need to at least check each one. If your skin isn’t damaged, I’ll leave them on.”_

_That’s fair._

_Scott undoes the cuff and examines the skin underneath, turning Mitch’s wrist to check all around it. He seems okay with what he finds, although he insists on applying lotion, smoothing it into Mitch’s skin with gentle fingers. Then he rebuckles the cuff, smiling at Mitch’s sigh of pleasure, and moves on to the next._

_Eventually, the skin under all four cuffs passes inspection, and Scott gets under the blanket too. “Okay?” he asks, sliding an arm under Mitch’s neck and encouraging his head onto his shoulder._

_“Fuck, yes.” The cuffs are snug and whole again, and just the weight of them and what they represent is enough to push Mitch’s mental space back to the edge of fuzzy. Such a fucking turn-on. “Fantastic.”_

_It’s only after they’ve been laying there for a while, Mitch’s head on Scott’s shoulder, Scott’s hand on his hip, that Mitch realizes it’s probably not enough. Scott’s one of the most tactile people he’s ever met, always happiest when he’s touching someone he cares about. And he always seems to especially crave closeness and physical contact after a scene. Not to mention how skin hungry he has to be after a week and a half apart; cuddles with Millie and Vivica would have been appreciated but nowhere near enough._

_Mitch doesn’t really want to move, but after a long sigh he manages it, levering himself up with an elbow and then sprawling across Scott’s body, head on his chest, legs tucked between Scott’s own._

_Scott hums contentedly, smoothing his hands up Mitch’s back and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. It gets even better when Scott’s hands trail their way back down Mitch’s spine and start a massage that’s as thorough and pleasurable as the one each of his limbs received earlier._

_“Fuck,” Mitch says into Scott’s collarbone. He wonders idly where Scott learned to do this so well. Maybe he dated a massage therapist at some point, although knowing him he probably took a class just so he could get better at pampering. It doesn’t really matter, as long as, “Please never stop.”_

_Scott’s chuckle rumbles under Mitch’s ear. “You said that before, but then you were begging for something else entirely.”_

_Mitch just moans in response and Scott laughs again, fingers continuing along every inch of Mitch’s back, easing the tension pulling at his restraints had caused across his shoulders, and the strain being kept on edge for so long had placed on his lower back._

_He missed this while he was away. The sex too, obviously. He really likes the sex. But also the closeness, the cuddling. Being spoiled and spoiling in return. Scott’s dorky sense of humor, his voice, his presence. Even the way his coffee cups always end up everywhere. Mitch wants him around all the time and that’s something that’s never happened for him before._

_He lifts his head to stare down at Scott, watching his expression change from content to curious with the quirk of a blond eyebrow. Mitch hesitates only a moment before blurting, “Move in with me?”_

_He realizes right after he’s said it that he’s not making much sense. His apartment is in no way suitable for the two of them; the closet space is already overflowing with just his own stuff, there’s nowhere to put a real piano even if they could get it up the stairs, and the poor Scott already has to fold himself in half to wash his hair whenever he stays over because the showerhead is only six feet off the ground. Not at all ideal._

_“Yes.”_

_“Or maybe I could move in with you?” That would make more sense, Scott’s apartment is bigger._

_“Yes.”_

_But maybe that’s rude, inviting himself into Scott’s space on a permanent basis? It’s pretty presumptuous, right? And even if it’s not, Scott’s apartment isn’t really big enough either. Where would Mitch’s decks go? His laptops? His keyboard? He needs room to spread everything out when he’s working. There’s a second bedroom, but there’s barely enough space around Scott’s instruments to even play them. Besides, how would they both work at the same time without getting in each other’s way? “Or we just get a new place and move in together?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“We’d probably need at least three bedrooms. I’m not picky, I just want…I mean, if you do too?” Mitch trails off before he really makes a fool of himself. More than he already has, he means._

_But Scott is smiling, grinning really, wide and bright and happy. “Mitch.” He pulls Mitch’s head down to meet his lips, kisses him thoroughly. “I’d really, really love to live with you. Even though you don’t listen to me.”_

_“I always listen to you.” Mitch rewinds the conversation in his head. “Except when I don’t. You already said yes?”_

_“_ Yes. _”_

_“In my defense, I had a tiring trip and then had my brains fucked out.”_

_“Mmm, I know about the first part and was there for the second.”_

_“We can really move in together?”_

_Scott nods, still smiling, although it’s more tempered now. “Yeah, I want to. But we should probably plan the details when we’re sure it’s not drop talking for either of us.”_

_Mitch isn’t dropping. He’s just feeling really cuddly and emotional and he missed Scott so much and all of this nice skin under him is great and comforting and if he thinks about it too much he’d probably start to cry because they can’t actually stay like this forever, except they can, sort of, if they live together and spend every night of their lives together and okay, wow. Maybe Scott’s right and he is dropping a little. Waiting to plan stuff is probably a smart move._

_“I’m going to owe Millie though. She bet me we’d be moving in together inside six months.”_

_“Pay the woman what she deserves. Oh God.” Scott’s fingers start in on his back again and Mitch moans as his whole body goes boneless, head falling to rest on Scott’s chest.  “I’m gon’ fall asleep like this if you keep it up.”_

_“I’m okay with that.” Scott presses a kiss into Mitch’s hair. “Just please don’t drool on me.”_

_Mitch hums as the hands keep moving, soothing and intimate and perfect. “No promises.”_

**Thoughts?**


End file.
